How To Seduce A Sinner

Chapter Nine

The announcement of the impending marriage of Miss Dorothea Ellingham to Carter Grayson, Marquess of Atwood, appeared in The Times the morning the Duke of Hansborough returned to London. To say he was angry when he read the paper was an understatement of mythic proportions. The dishes in the kitchen rattled, the horses stabled in the mews reared, and a flustered upstairs maid dropped a priceless antique vase as the duke repeatedly bellowed his outrage.

In his more optimistic moments Carter had told himself the duke’s anger would be swift, sharp, and short-lived. Yet as he stood before his father in the duke’s private study, he grudgingly acknowledged that was not proving to be the case.

“I had to read the announcement in the newspaper,” the duke roared, tossing the offending item on his desk, where it scattered across the dark mahogany. “The newspaper! Was I not owed the common courtesy of being told beforehand, in person?”

“You were not in Town,” Carter answered, raising his voice to be heard above his father’s disapproving bellows. “There was no opportunity.”

“You could have waited. You should have waited.” The duke paused, his eyes narrowing with alarm. “Unless there is a specific need for the marriage to occur with undue haste?”

A chill of anger swept through Carter at the inference. “You dishonor me, sir, by asking such a callous, inappropriate question.” He cared little for his own reputation, for it was hardly stellar. However, he would not allow his future wife’s honor and integrity to be impugned, even by his own father. “The time frame is perfectly acceptable, and I will insist to you that there is no need for a hasty wedding. We are not running off to Gretna Green nor arranging for a ceremony by special license. The banns shall be dutifully read and we will marry in three weeks’ time.”

“Three weeks?” The duke rubbed his hands together. “Hmm, then there is still time for you to reconsider.”

“Sir, you have continually badgered me to get married and now that I have chosen a bride, you wish me to call off the wedding?” Carter’s jaw clenched in anger. He paced off the carpet and onto the intricate parquet floor, his boot heels clicking loudly.

The duke leaned forward, closing his hands on the newspaper spread on his desk. “I want you to call off this wedding, to this particular female. After a reasonable amount of time has passed, I then want you to select a bride from the women on my list. You still have it, don’t you?”

“I do not!” Though in that moment Carter desperately wished he did have the list on his person, just so he could crumple it in his father’s face before tossing it into the fireplace. “I swear, I shall not be held accountable for my actions if you mention that damn list once more, sir. I shall choose my bride, not you.”

The duke’s hand balled into a tight fist. He stood, paced, turned, then banged his closed fist on his desktop. “Why must you be so infernally stubborn?”

“I am your son,” Carter blurted out, not bothering to hide his irritation. “I come by my stubbornness naturally.”

“You get it from your mother’s side of the family,” the duke grumbled. He took a long, deep breath, then slowly sank down into his chair. His face was as dark as a thundercloud until suddenly he smiled. “If you insist upon this course of action, then I insist upon meeting Miss Ellingham immediately.”

Ah, so that’s how he was going to play it. Denied his way, the duke now planned to intimidate and essentially frighten off Miss Ellingham. As if that could ever work! Carter forced an answering smile. “If you cannot control your temper any better than you are, sir, you will meet my fiancée at the church on the morning of our wedding.”

The duke looked at him cautiously, and Carter had the distinct impression his father was weighing the threat in his mind.

“I view your Miss Ellingham as a social upstart and a fortune hunter,” the duke replied. “And I’ll make no bones about the matter. Mark my words, she’s after your title and your money.”

“Perhaps she has fallen in love with me,” Carter suggested casually.

“Fallen in love with your money, you mean.”

Carter squared his shoulders. “Your flattering assessment of my personal charm aside, I firmly believe Miss Ellingham is not a fortune hunter. She is a very comely female, genteel in her upbringing. True, she has no great family connections or wealth, but I have enough of that for the both of us. We will suit, Father. That’s all that matters.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed into sharp points. “You’re damn quick to defend her.”

“She will be my wife and as such deserves every courtesy.”

Gradually the duke’s hard expression faded. “I can see I am wasting my breath arguing the point with you.”

“You are, indeed.”

“All right, then. I will withhold my final judgment until I meet the girl.” The duke took on a serious expression. “You will bring her to dinner this evening.”

“I have plans.”

“Break them.”

Carter gulped, his sense of victory short-lived. He had confidence that his future bride could cope with his father, but she would need time to prepare herself. “I am certain Miss Ellingham is also engaged for the evening.”

The duke waved his hand dismissively. “’Tis far more important for her to meet me and gain my approval of this match. She can be late to whatever event she had planned to attend.”

Carter turned his head and cursed under his breath.

“I heard that,” the duke muttered.

“You were meant to,” Carter countered. He took a deep breath, allowing his anger to cool. Eyeing his father thoughtfully, Carter realized he might as well get the meeting between the duke and Miss Ellingham over with. A day or two would not make that much difference. Either she had the backbone to stomach the duke or else she would have to try to avoid him for a good part of their marriage. “We will be here at eight.”

“Sharp,” the duke commanded, his brows tightly pinched.

Carter flinched, but did not answer. He would need to send an urgent note to his fiancée and beg her indulgence to change her plans. And to sweeten the last-minute request, he would wisely add an expensive bauble as further enticement.

The tersely worded note from Lord Atwood arrived when Dorothea rose from an afternoon nap. She had not been sleeping well at night, making the occasional afternoon rest a necessity if she was to keep her eyes open and her conversation coherent during these late-night social events. Her initial delight at hearing from her fiancé was quickly dispelled when she learned the reason for the message was a request to dine with his father. That very evening.

She had heard the gossip about her future father-in-law and none of it had instilled a great desire to meet him. He was said to be a harsh man, a stickler for propriety, a man much enamored of his own rank and position. Even Lord Dardington had once referred to him as a horror, and he feared no one.

Dorothea highly doubted the meeting was intended to welcome her into the family. Oh, no, she felt certain the duke desired just the opposite.

“Please, Lady Meredith, help me decide what I should wear,” Dorothea pleaded as the two women stood together in front of her open wardrobe. “I do not want to give the duke any reason to find fault with me.”

“If he judges you solely on your appearance, he is even more of a fool than I thought,” Lady Meredith quipped.

Dorothea blanched. “Maybe I should decline the invitation. I could beg off, telling Lord Atwood I was feeling ill.” She cast a hopeful look at Lady Meredith, then belatedly realized there was far too much truth in the statement. She had been feeling decidedly queasy ever since the note arrived.

“You shall never best the duke if you avoid him.” Lady Meredith’s grim expression softened. “You need to let him know that you are serious about your marriage and your new position in society.”

Dorothea nodded and stared at the floor as she considered her options. She needed to be reasonable, even if the duke was not, given the very late hour the invitation was issued. She needed also to remember that she was doing this to accommodate her future husband. It was important that Carter realize she was willing to make sacrifices when necessary. Of course, it was equally important that he understand there were limits to her patience and affability.

“White can give my complexion a dull, washed-out look at times,” Dorothea remarked, questioning the choice of the gown Lady Meredith had selected from the bulging wardrobe. “I think the red silk gown would be better.”

“There are many shades of white,” Lady Meredith protested, holding the gown against Dorothea’s chest. “This one in particular sets off your hair and eyes. The satin sheen is delicate and flattering. Plus, white should effectively complement whatever Lord Atwood has sent you.”

Lady Meredith motioned to the maid, who held out a small black velvet pouch. Hastily untying the gold cord, Dorothea pulled out a pair of teardrop-shaped earrings and a matching emerald pendant. She gasped. The brilliant green of the many-faceted stones shimmered in the fading daylight, dazzling in their sparkle.

“They are magnificent,” Dorothea exclaimed.

“What does the note say?” Lady Meredith asked.

“Beautiful jewels are meant for a beautiful woman. I hope you will favor my request and wear them tonight.” Dorothea sighed. It was a romantic gesture that stirred a variety of complex emotions inside her. Was he wooing her? Trying to please or impress her? Or was he arming her for this meeting with his father? Thinking the latter might be his prime motivation left Dorothea with a vaguely dissatisfied feeling.

“It’s settled. You will wear them tonight with your white gown,” Lady Meredith insisted. “They will give you a regal air and display most effectively to the duke that you are a worthy bride for his son.”

Dubiously, Dorothea accepted the magnificent jewelry, concerned that Lady Meredith had hit upon the most unsettling reason the jewels might have been gifted to her. Yet later that evening, as Dorothea surveyed herself in the cheval glass, her reflection gave her pause. Lady Meredith was right. The gown and jewels gave her a noble, mature look, boosting her flagging confidence. Perhaps the exact reason for the gift was not as important as the result.

Carter’s approving smile when she entered the front hall also gave her a lift. She thanked him prettily for the jewelry and would have even ventured a kiss, had not Lord and Lady Dardington, along with half a dozen servants, been watching.

Carter distracted her with amusing small talk on the carriage ride and she felt herself start to relax. The even mood stayed with her until they divested themselves of their outer garments and passed them to two silent, formally attired footmen.

With Carter by her side, Dorothea followed the butler across the cold marble foyer and willed herself not to shudder. The interior furnishings were even more impressive than the massive, stately exterior of the duke’s mansion, but the overall effect left her feeling cold. They conveyed an impersonal grandeur that money and good taste could not eliminate, a gloominess that made all the inherent beauty of these priceless furnishings seem forbidding.

Her steps faltered and then she felt Carter’s strong hand at her elbow. “Try not to worry. You’ll do fine.”

Dorothea glanced frantically over her shoulder, worried one of the servants who stood like sentry guards every few feet could hear her. “What if the duke doesn’t like me?” she asked, rising high on her toes to whisper in Carter’s ear.

“Then he is an ass.”

The glib statement did not ease her nerves. As if she would ever dare to dismiss a man of rank and privilege so boldly, a man who could create such an opulent environment and live comfortably within it. “I suppose I should have inquired before now, but do you have any sage advice to impart on how best to handle things this evening?”

“You must be yourself, my dear. No need to posture and put on airs. And no false flattery. The duke abhors it.”

Wonderful. Flattery and feigning interest in the other person’s conversation was a social skill Dorothea relied on heavily.

The sound of approaching footsteps brought her thoughts abruptly to the present. With chilled fingers, Dorothea smoothed the white satin of her gown and prepared herself to meet the duke.

He was clad entirely in black, the only exception his white shirt and cravat. The formality of such attire was common among gentlemen, but the duke wore his elegant clothing in a manner that was more somber than most. She could see very little resemblance between father and son and decided Carter must have taken after his mother.

In looks and apparently temperament, thank heavens, for Lord Atwood did not have the brooding, almost morose demeanor his father sported so naturally. Or perhaps he did? With a start, Dorothea realized she had not been around him enough to know how much like his formidable father he truly could be.

Carter introduced her. For a long moment the duke did not acknowledge her, but instead glared sourly at his son. When he at last turned his attention in her direction, Dorothea’s heart lurched. The duke seemed to delight in looking down his aristocratic nose at her, his expression dark and foreboding.

“You’re late,” he said gruffly.

Were they? Dorothea’s mind went blank and her tongue went numb. Flustered, she swooped into a deep, elegant curtsy. The duke’s expression did not alter. As she rose, Dorothea felt a flush of embarrassment. Clearly, the duke was not impressed. This was even more ghastly than she had feared.

“We are not late, sir,” Carter replied. “Given the very short length at which the invitation was extended, I would venture to say we were right on time.”

“Humph.”

“Actually, you are fortunate indeed that we are even here.”

The duke’s eyes flashed with anger. Most people would have been warned to tread carefully, but apparently Carter had a differing view when it came to his father.

“And if we are discontented at any time, we will have to depart early,” Carter added.

Dorothea blinked. Had he lost his mind? He was taunting his father, almost daring him to give them a reason to storm off.

They retired to a drawing room that featured two enormous marble fireplaces evenly spaced along one very long wall. Dorothea kept her eyes on the ornately carved mantel of the one nearest her as she tried to settle her nerves.

The duke engaged his son in conversation, yet while he spoke, he stared at Dorothea. Though it was difficult, Dorothea refused to squirm, vowing she would ignore his impolite glare. His manners were an abomination. Even her uncle Fletcher would not be so rude as to deliberately put a guest ill at ease.

She decided it must be some sort of test. And while she did not understand precisely what was required, she was determined to pass it.

After what felt like an eternity, they were called for dinner. They entered another cavernous room, which boasted a massive dining table that had been polished to a mirror finish. Dorothea counted no fewer than twenty-four chairs as she was escorted down the length of the table.

Her momentary relief at spying three elaborate place settings clustered at one end of the table was dashed when she realized they would now be close enough to converse through the entire meal.

Once they were all settled, the first course was served. It was lobster bisque, her favorite. Yet Dorothea honestly feared if she tried to swallow a spoonful it would not rest quietly in her stomach.

Utilizing a trick Gwendolyn had taught her, she slowly glided her spoon through the hot liquid, then lifted a nearly empty spoon to her lips. The duke and his son appeared to be doing something similar, though they occasionally ate some of the delicate broth. But not much, from what Dorothea could tell.

The plates were cleared and the next course was served. The silence in the room became increasingly unbearable.

Dorothea wished she had the courage to introduce a topic upon which they could all pleasantly converse, but her mind blanked completely. It would be just her luck that she would innocently select something that would enrage the duke, which in turn would cause Carter to explode in a temper and stomp from the room.

She glanced beneath her lashes at Lord Atwood, hoping he would rescue them all by saying something appropriate, but all she received was a brief smile of reassurance before he returned his attention to his dinner plate.

Dorothea felt like screaming.

“I did not attend the Aldertons’ ball last week but I heard his corset snapped in the middle of the ballroom floor and he literally burst out of his clothes,” the duke said. “That must have been a sight to behold.”

“It happened on the receiving line,” Dorothea interjected softly.

“Hmm, what did you say? Speak up, girl.”

“I said it happened on the receiving line, Your Grace.”

“And how would you know that tidbit?”

“Because I was there, standing directly in front of him when the strings of his corset broke.”

“It certainly must have caused a racket.” The duke feigned a casual indifference to her remark, but Dorothea could see the true interest glistening in his eyes.

“Actually, the corset strings did not make a sound, but as I curtsied in greeting I could not help but notice Lord Alderton’s girth expanding before my very eyes. In mere seconds, the silver buttons on his waistcoat broke free and shot across the room as if they had been fired from a pistol. There were shrieks of horror from several directions.”

“Ha!” The duke grinned, then leaned forward in his chair. “Did the buttons strike anyone?”

“I don’t believe so, for they could have caused significant hurt, and I saw no blood.”

“Hornsby told me that one nearly shot out his eye,” Carter added, his face also sporting a grin.

“I’m not surprised,” Dorothea muttered.

“What did you do when Alderton started, hmm, expanding?” the duke asked.

“I pretended that nothing at all was amiss. I averted my eyes from the split seams of Lord Alderton’s jacket, commented on the lovely weather and my delight at attending his ball. I even promised him a dance before moving on to greet Lady Alderton, who was completely oblivious to the mishap.”

“She always was a simpleton,” the duke grumbled. “And he is a pompous ass. They are an ideal match in so many ways, each deserving such an irritating spouse.”

Dorothea glanced curiously at the duke. His remarks suggested there might be some sort of history between him and the Aldertons, but Dorothea was not about to ask any questions.

“I think Miss Ellingham should be commended for coping with the disaster in such a skillful, refined manner,” Carter remarked.

“And you think gracefully handling a single society mishap qualifies her to become a duchess?” the duke challenged.

“No, Your Grace,” Dorothea interrupted. “I think the incident demonstrates how very essential it is to not overestimate one’s own importance.” She took a small sip of water from the lovely crystal goblet to clear the dryness from her throat. “If Lord Alderton had not been so concerned about his appearance, he would have allowed his tailor to make a garment that fit him properly, rather than trying to stuff himself into an outfit two sizes too small.”

The duke stared at her so long Dorothea felt the hairs on the back of her neck starting to rise in alarm. Yet she refused to lower her gaze or defend her comments. Then, unexpectedly, miraculously, the older man offered her the barest hint of a smile.

“You have a great deal to learn about London society,” he said.

“I know. I’m sure I shall make many mistakes.” She lifted the white linen napkin from her lap and dabbed at the corner of her mouth. “Though I promise I shall never burst out of my clothing at a society affair.”

“Bravo,” Carter commented with a grin.

“And I know there would be far fewer blunders if I had someone to guide me, to assist me in the murky society waters,” she added pointedly, her eyes on the duke.

“That is women’s domain,” the duke declared dismissively.

“Not entirely.” Dorothea forced a smile. “You gravely underestimate the male influence, especially among the bullying society matrons. I know they would defer to the opinion of a man they respected.”

“You mean someone like me.” The duke flicked his gaze over her, his expression cagey. “I see what you are trying to do, Miss Ellingham. Buttering me up in order to gain my approval and support.”

“Is it working?”

Lord Atwood coughed. Dorothea turned her head, pleading with her eyes for him not to intervene. This was between her and the duke.

“I’ll have to let you know.”

“Fair enough, Your Grace.” Dorothea glanced down at her plate and realized she had eaten almost half her creamed fillet of halibut. And she didn’t even like fish. With a crooked smile she forked up another mouthful.

To her vast relief, the duke decided to drop the brunt of his disapproving manner as the roast beef course was served. An undercurrent of tension lingered, but it was not as all-encompassing and oppressive as when they first arrived.

Despite the recovery of the evening, Dorothea’s head was plagued with a dull ache by the time they departed. When Carter handed her into his carriage, she gratefully sank back against the velvet squabs and closed her eyes, willing the tension to ease from her mind.

Seeming to understand and respect her need for solitude, her fiancé allowed them to sit in silence until they were nearly halfway to the Smith-Johnsons’ ball.

“About my father-”

“There is no need to apologize,” Dorothea interrupted. “You were not responsible for his behavior. Though I feel I need to ask. Does the duke improve upon further acquaintance?”

“Honestly?”

“Please.”

“Not really.” A glimmer of amusement flickered in Carter’s eyes as he appraised her with a measuring gaze. “Well, you did ask for honesty.”

“I did. And I appreciate the truth.” Her chin jutted out determinedly. “Never fear. I will learn to handle him.”

“Or avoid him.”

Dorothea’s eyes widened. It was a telling comment. One that explained a good deal about the animosity that swirled beneath the surface between father and son. Avoidance had apparently been the method that Carter had decided to enact when coping with his father. And clearly that tactic had been employed with limited success.

“Thank you for the warning,” she said quietly.

“I will protect you as much as I can,” he promised. “And once you have given birth to an heir, I feel certain his criticism will ebb.”

Dorothea wasn’t sure she could wait that long. “I have been surrounded by women for most of my life, with the exception of my uncle Fletcher, a gentleman who keeps his thoughts and opinions to himself. These many females are a strong-willed, opinionated group. In order to survive, I have learned how to deflect an argument, ignore most criticism, and hide as many of my missteps as possible.”

“I am heartened to learn of it.”

“I do, however, have one request.”

Carter’s eyes lit with a momentary start of suspicion, but then it vanished, replaced by a cautious curiosity. “After you endured this evening with such grace and dignity, I feel I owe you anything.”

Dorothea smiled. She very much liked the idea of having him in her debt.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

Punctuating her request with a likewise action, Dorothea lunged forward and wrapped her arms around a very startled marquess. He felt strong and solid and smelled divine. Bringing her mouth to his, she slowly skimmed her lips back and forth across his. He smiled faintly and allowed her teasing, doing nothing to either encourage or reject her advances.

Charmed at the notion that she was in control, Dorothea cupped his face in her hands. She would not be satisfied with merely pressing their mouths together. She wanted the passion and excitement she knew he could arouse in her. Boldly, she nibbled his lower lip, seeking entrance, and slowly, tantalizingly, he opened to her. Her tongue curled against his, tasting and teasing, and he responded by kissing her back with total abandon.

Dorothea instinctively began to move her body, amazed at the intense jolt of desire she felt, captivated by the tumbling sensations. He heated her blood in a way that no one else had ever done, in a way she did not fully understand. She only knew it intrigued and excited her and she wanted more. Much more.

His mouth was magical, enthralling her utterly. His hands moved on her throat, down the column of her neck, across her shoulders, then lower, his fingers lightly stroking her skin as he discovered the roundness of her breasts.

Dorothea found herself arching forward into his hot touch, blindly seeking the pleasure he was arousing so effortlessly in her. All too soon, he broke off the kiss, even as she felt her entire body growing restless and edgy.

She leaned against him, gulping air in deep, uneven breaths, frantically trying to figure out how she could get him to start kissing her again.

He exhaled raggedly. She lifted her head. His eyes were closed, his thumb and forefinger clenching the bridge of his nose as he struggled to rein in his passion.

“We are to be married,” she purred, in her best seductive voice. “Sharing a kiss or two is perfectly acceptable.”

He wiped a palm down his face and stared at her, his expression unreadable. “It is quickly progressing beyond a kiss. And as much as I want you, my dear, I will not take my future wife’s virginity in the back of a carriage.”

The flat, blunt statement washed over Dorothea like a bucket of ice water. She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and pulled away as a wave of deep embarrassment heated her cheeks.

“I hardly meant for things to go that far,” she muttered, her voice displaying only a partial tremor of mortification. She felt hot all over, certain her face was turning an unattractive shade of red. She desperately needed a draft of cool air to embrace her, but she dared not reach out to lower the window and draw even more attention to her plight.

Was it not a few days ago he had wickedly whispered his hope that she would be amenable to anticipating their marriage vows? Had he not tried to seduce her in the moonlight, to encourage a wanton and uninhibited response? What had changed so suddenly? Did he no longer feel a passion for her?

She tensed, yet dared to risk another glance at his face. The spark of heated desire revealed in his gaze soothed her wounded vanity. He was not unaffected by their embrace. He was merely able to control it better. The realization made Dorothea feel exposed, vulnerable.

There was no opportunity to ponder those feelings, for the coach rambled to a full stop. A footman opened the carriage door and lowered the step. Routinely, Dorothea extended her hand and allowed herself to be helped out. She turned, waiting for Carter to descend, but he remained seated, leaning his upper torso forward to speak with her.

“I bid you good evening, my dear. I do hope you will enjoy the party.”

“You aren’t coming inside?”

“Alas, I have other plans.”

“Oh.” Dorothea struggled to stretch her mouth into a strained smile. The sting of disappointment she felt was swift and sharp.

“You will, however, need an escort to take you inside.” He turned his head and scanned the few carriages that were arriving at the front gate.

Dorothea straightened, her pride bristling at being passed over to another man as if she were a burdensome old maid. “There is no need to fret on my account. Lord and Lady Dardington have most likely arrived. I should not have too much difficulty locating them once I am inside.”

She pivoted on her heel, but he was at her side before she had taken her first step. “Don’t be ridiculous. Naturally I shall escort you safely inside.”

He was all elegance and good manners, and that angered Dorothea even more. She wanted him to stay with her because he desired it, not because he felt it was the proper thing to do.

Nevertheless, she allowed him to take her arm and walk her into the party. It was the typical crush, with people everywhere, but somehow Carter found Lord Dardington among the masses.

He greeted the older man cordially, then bowed over her hand and bid her a crisp good night. As she watched his broad back fade from view, Dorothea felt a sharp pang of loss. Inexplicably she found herself fighting back a brace of tears.

She could feel Lord Dardington’s cool gaze upon her. Dorothea glanced down at her hands, then lifted her chin, doing her best to appear unconcerned. The wedding announcement had been made, the agreement struck. She would marry the marquess and make the best of the situation. Surprisingly, that knowledge and resolve brought a flood of relief to her confused emotions.

She had chosen the right man. Now all she needed to do was to wait until he realized it.

Carter did not want to leave the ball, or more specifically, he did not want to leave Dorothea. But he had made plans to spend the evening with Benton, Dawson, and the major, and Carter felt he must stick with those arrangements. Acquiring a fiancée, and soon a wife, was going to alter his life but his friendship with these men would remain strong.

“I read the most appalling bit of news in The Times today, Atwood,” Viscount Benton said as he discarded one of his playing cards and reached for another. “There was an announcement of your marriage. Surely that was some sort of ghastly error?”

Carter blinked through the smoke-filled air and smiled cagily at the men seated around the table. They had been drinking, smoking, and gambling for nearly five hours and not a word had been said concerning his upcoming nuptials. He wondered briefly why Benton sought to introduce the topic now, but concluded his friend had most likely just remembered. After all, the viscount had been on a winning streak for most of the night.

“’Tis true, Benton,” he answered. “Miss Ellingham and I are to be married.”

Benton shot a wicked smile in Carter’s direction. “Dorothea Ellingham, the very same female under Dardington’s protection? Then I know it must be true. Only a simpleton would cross Dardington. Unless your brains have gone missing?”

The viscount looked so hopeful that Carter burst out laughing. “I am merely following your advice, Benton. I tossed out my father’s list of potential brides and found a woman on my own to marry.”

“Ah, so this is my plan in action?” The viscount squinted down at his cards for a long moment, then tilted his head to one side. “But you were supposed to find someone unsuitable and then pretend to want to take her as your bride. That would have bought you more time as a bachelor. Miss Ellingham is a perfectly acceptable female, therefore you will have to go through with it.”

“I am very aware of that fact,” Carter answered as he slid the last card across the table to Dawson.

Dawson accepted it with a smile, then frowned when he turned it over. The man really did have the worst face for cards, far too open and honest. “I confess I was also surprised to read the announcement,” Dawson added. “I thought it was Roddy who had Miss Ellingham in his sights.”

The three men turned toward the major. He abruptly ceased shuffling the cards in his hands when he realized they were staring at him. “I took her on a single picnic,” he declared, straightening in his chair.

“Ah, well, I for one wish you great happiness, Atwood,” Dawson said sincerely. “She is a lovely woman.”

“And I wish you a return to your senses before the date,” Benton quipped. “There is still time to escape. I hear the hunting in Scotland can be prime this time of year.”

Carter smiled. “I have no desire to escape. The marriage is on my terms and I’m pleased with this decision. Won’t you be happy for me?”

Benton shook his head violently. “I would be happier if I did not believe you had lost your mind.”

“To Atwood’s marriage,” Dawson said, lifting his glass.

Roddy followed suit, but Benton slumped forward, propped his elbow on the table, and rested his chin in his hand. “I cannot condone this decision, however lovely the future bride. You will not be able to exchange her for a new one, you know. She will be a part of your life forever. Perhaps, if the vicar is to be believed, into eternity.” The viscount shuddered visibly at the notion.

“You’re drunk,” Carter declared.

“Damn right. You should be, too. No sane, sober man would take this step unless he was under the hatches.”

“But it’s what I want,” Carter replied mildly.

“And you always get whatever you desire, don’t you, Atwood?” Roddy declared before lifting his glass and draining it in one long gulp.

Carter narrowed his eyes at the major’s venomous tone. “You told me you had no interest in the lady. Were you lying?”

“I’m not a liar!” Roddy snarled.

He lunged toward Carter. Despite his minor inebriation, Carter managed to tilt himself out of the way. Before the major could regroup, Dawson jumped between the two men.

“Calm down, Roddy!” Dawson shouted. “There’s no need for any of this nonsense.”

The major shrugged off Dawson’s hand and stood on his feet. “He called me a liar.”

“Oh, do shut up,” Benton moaned. “That racket is playing havoc inside my head. Atwood meant no insult, did you?”

“I’m sure he did not,” Dawson interjected. “Nor did the major. I fear we’ve all had too much good brandy tonight.”

“Hell, Dawson, there is no such thing as too much brandy,” Benton insisted. He refilled each glass before casting a stern glance at Carter and the major. “To friendship.”

Carter waited expectantly for Roddy to make the first conciliatory move. With a sheepish grin, the major raised his glass in salute. Carter accepted the unspoken apology and did the same, but he was not entirely certain that too much brandy was the true reason for the major’s tirade. And the thought left him very unsettled.